


Beakon

by Lenmc



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Possible Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenmc/pseuds/Lenmc
Summary: Grayson is gone, vanished, presumed dead. While Damian tries to cope with the situation -it’s not that he really cares that much that the annoying idiot has managed to get himself lost -he's not dead, he isn't- it’s just that he misses him sometimes- he slowly realizes that Nightwings ‘death’ will change a lot more than he ever anticipated. Witnessing his father slowly fading into Batman and everything falling apart, Damian thinks it can’t get much worse. That is until another threat unfolds, one that threatens to destroy human life itself, and with everything wracked is probably likely to succeed. Fortunately the son of batman never was one who believed in giving up and he’s surely not starting with it now.





	1. Denial

He thought funerals were stupid. A waste of time, if someone died who’s life didn’t matter while he was living why start caring once he was dead? And if someone died who actually mattered why make a celebration out of their death? It was stupid, it wasn’t like they were able to notice, to see the last honour given to them, because that was the point wasn’t it? That they were dead that they’d never notice anything anymore.

All of them were attending, not only the “Batfamily” - wasn’t that cynical? There might have been a family before, even if he despised the word, but it had been centered around Dick, founded on him, and was now quickly falling apart-  but most of the superheroes community paying their respects as well. Damian sometimes forgot how many of them there were, and then there were others too, the graveyard crowded by too many people to count, he doubted even superman would leave more grieving people behind. He winced and tried to ignore the pain in his chest the sickness in his stomach, the awful stinging that would just come up since _it_ had happened and he hadn’t yet figured out a way to fight it, defeat it.

“Master Damian,” it was Alfred of course, all in black and sorrow on his face. “I think Master Dick wouldn’t have approved of you keeping yourself apart,”

“Too bad he’s dead then and can’t bug me about it.”

Damian didn’t have to follow Alfreds gaze to know what he indicated. He had watched them, Drake and Todd talking, Mcginnis and Gordon trying to comfort each other. Even in death Grayson managed to bring them together. How pathetic. It wouldn’t last though, the cracks had started to show a few weeks ago and they would reappear after this. Bigger and uglier than before. Eventually everything would fall apart despite what Grayson would have wanted.

Alfred ttskd but didn’t leave him. His quiet kind presence annoyed Damian. It reminded him of... How dared he trying to comfort him?

“Your company isn’t wanted, Pennyworth, go and pester father for all I care about.”

Alfred’s lips thinned. “I doubt Master Bruce can be described being in a state where anyone is able to ‘pester’ him.” He didn’t sound amused.

There was another sting in Damians gut, and he hated himself for being so weak, for _caring_ too much. He was Robin damnit, he was be better than this.

Alfreds frown deepened and Damian was painfully aware that the butler looked like they weren’t only burying Dick tonight. There was a voice inside his head wanting to cheer him up, tell him it would be okay, a voice light and kind that it was clearly a reminiscence of Dick. _Too bad Grayson,_ he thought bitterly, _that’s what you get for dying, I’m not doing any of it!_

He felt a hand around his shoulder, a hand he wanted to jerk away but somehow didn’t.

“Unfortunately, young Sir, your face betrays you. Your presence here does too.”

“They’re all here, aren’t they? All his _friends_ and _family_. Making a big scene crying, bonding and caring pretending to honour him while at the time they’re just throwing away everything he ever stood for.”

“And what would that be?” Alfred asked knowing perfectly well what he meant.

Damian winced and looked away not giving him the pleasure of the spoken words. It didn’t help much. It just made him stare at the grass that was far too green, the too vividly blooming blossoms, the dizzily buzzying bees under an endless blue sky with a bright warm sun. It had been raining for weeks and just stopped today. He had been so angry this morning when he had noticed the clouds breaking, sky clearing and the sun coming out. How much he hated Grayson for it.

He took a deep breath and decided to change the subject.

“At least father doesn’t pretend,” he said bitterly involuntary glancing at the lonely figure apart from anyone else, the sun was so bright even his father wouldn’t cast a shadow.

The hand around his shoulder felt heavier and Damian wondered why he hadn’t yet shoved it away.

Alfred didn’t have to repeat the words he had said a week ago, Damian could hear them nevertheless. And it was difficult trying to see his father, Bruce Wayne, standing sunbathed on the top of that hill preparing to give a speech he hadn’t even written and not Batman doing what was necessary.

\-------------------------------

_“He is doing what?”_

_“He is organizing a proper service for Saturday afternoon, he-“_

_“I’m neither deaf nor stupid, Drake.”_

_The older boy raised a mocking brow that made certain Damian would know that he wouldn’t agree with the last part anyway. At least he had the brain to keep his mouth shut, because Damian would have shut it. Permanently. He gritted his teeth._

_“Father won’t hold a funeral. He doesn’t believe he’s dead.”_

_“He does now.” Drake answered matter of factly._

_“It’s not true.” Damian said glaring at him. But even to himself it sounded childish, like he was lying to himself. Grayson would have noticed. He would have given him a big smile, tousled his head and laughed._

_Drake didn’t notice of course. “He might have had hope before, but now he doesn’t. The facts aren’t hard to miss. The obvious ones: No extra hours - after patrol and before breakfast- on the computer looking through possible locations, wherabouts and mentions of Dick. No secret phone calls to his contacts.”_

_Drake dared him to contradict him but Damian decided to continue glaring at him angrily._

_“And then there are the subtle ones. The way his shoulders aren’t slightly hung anymore but his back is straight and his neck is rigid. No more moments where he just seems unfocussed for a blink of an eye as if he was somewhere else, no more and gazes into nothingness. No more clenching his fists when he sees something that reminds him of Dick...”_

No more sorrow on his face, _Damian thought,_ no more anxiety.

_“And have you noticed how he changed treating us?” Drake almost sounded bitter, “With you and Alfred it’s the most obvious.”_

_Damian kept quiet._

_“No pat on the shoulder, no touch, not a single friendly word.”_

_“Because father is such a affectionate man,” Damian said sarcastically._

_“You really are a stupid brat. A good detective observes and notices things. You should try that some time.”_

_“Brilliant like you? If you are so clever how come you haven’t figured out what happened to Dick? Or are just not trying? Being so clever and patting yourself on your back for noticing things even a child could observe. Why aren’t you looking into things that really matter like Grayson’s disappearance- is it your ignorance or your incompetence, that...“_

_“Because Bruce is right and Dick is dead. I don’t want it to be true, I hate the thought, but he has to be dead or he would have come back a week ago when we were almost killed. He would have helped us, no matter the cost no matter the situation he would have_ found _a way. That’s who he is. Who he was. That’s why everyone knows he’s dead, because he wouldn’t have left us to die.”_

_“He is not dead,” Damian growled. “Maybe,” he said angrily, “you just give up so easily because you don’t care enough, he never really meant anything to you anyway,”_

_A fist connected with his face._ _“Don’t you dare!” Drake hissed furiously attacking him._ _The second blow he caught and landed a hit on Drakes jaw himself. The next two towards  
_

_Drakes face got blocked, but the punch in his side didn’t, he heard the older boy wincing and pushed for another attack. Drake caught his arm did a swift combination himself his blows hitting furiously, Damian managed to block the first evade the second jump over the sweeper but wasn’t quick enough to duck the swinger that followed. The impact threw him into the wall but he turned and pushed himself off the wall with a backflip. He landed on his feet preparing to take down Drake, he was going to kill the imbecile, when the intercom suddenly interrupted them._

_“Master Timothy, Master Damian, I can see everything that transpires from the cameras. If you need to devastate your environment and each other I suggest you postpone it until dinner and use the designated spots in the bat cave.”_

_Then it was quiet. Damian glared from the intercom to the other boy._

_Drake held his gaze angrily. “He’s dead,” he spit and then he left._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And here he was stuck at that bloody funeral for Dick Grayson who wasn’t dead , who couldn’t be dead. With all those fools around him who were too blind to see what it’d really mean if he was actually dead. It wasn’t about Dick, Damian assured himself, trying to suppress the picture of his kind face with the brilliant smile and warm eyes, it wasn’t about _him_. It was about what he stood for that couldn’t be gone that Damian wouldn’t give up with out a fight.

He glanced up to the lonely man upon the hill. No one dared to approach him. Not even Alfred. And he wished he could just walk up there and try to... he didn’t even know what. Comfort him he thought awkwardly. Comfort them both. That would be what Grayson would have wanted him to do. But damn him for not being there, damn him for leaving them behind. When he finally found the courage to walk up, his father had already started moving down. It felt terribly long till they met and stopped in front of each other. The sun on his back gave him courage to look up to his face but there was nothing there but a mask tightly set in place.

“Father...” Damian started.

“Damian.” Bruce answered ending the conversation before it had even started.

They walked towards the grave in silence but where there could have been comfort in each others company Damian just felt distance. When they finally reached their destination Damian vanished into the crowd. _See, Grayson? That’s what you get for trying_.

Time passed. Superboy had somehow quietly wormed the way to his side. He was standing close, so close that their shoulders were touching. Pathetic. But he wasn’t going to bother shoving him away. He wasn’t worth it. And then it started.

There were songs classical and pop ones far too cheey and stupidly sad but nevertheless pathetically hopeful, too. It was depressive. Then came the speeches, a seemingly endless chain of people telling how much they loved Dick, how great he was, how kind, how brave how much they’d miss him. Some of them cried. Even Todd spoke. And even though he mainly wanted to share his respect he couldn’t hide the glimpses of feeling showing in between. His father held the last speech. Damian knew Drake had written the speech after having an argument with his father who wouldn’t find the time preparing more than a superficial speech busying himself in being out in the streets fighting crime day and night, even more than usual. He had overheard their conversation.

“ _You can’t just bury him like any other. You can’t pretend nothing has happened, he deserves a proper good bye, no he deserves the very best.”_

_“The best way to honour him is to keep Gotham save. And Blüdhaven.” Batman said._

_“He is your son.” Tim answered._

_“He would have understood.”_

_“Of course he would. Because he knows you. Because he is far too understanding. Was. But he would have stood up to you too, not for himself of course, but he would have wanted to give them hope.”_

_Batman had paused considering. “Do what needs to be done, Tim.” he had finally said._

_“It should be you. It really should be you.” Drake had muttered and left his father standing there alone._

_Damian had almost missed the quiet words that Bruce had said to himself when Drake was gone “I can’t” They had stung more than Drakes blows ever had._

So Drake had prepared the speech and Bruce had agreed to read it. And now Damian almost wished Drake had given the speech himself, his fathers voice was detached and it clashed with the warm words that weren’t his own. Damian swallowed and tried to focus on the content and not on the mechanical voice.

 

“...as most of you have said before me, Dick Grayson was a great man. Not only was he brave and just with the unyielding will to protect, he was also the most loving, trusting and loyal man I know. He was the most kind. He showed compassion not only for his friends but even for his enemies.

No matter what happened to him, what tragedies he faced, he never got bitter, never let it break his spirit, his optimism for the future and his trust in the good in people. He’d face every challenge with an open heart, a joke on his lips and the ironclad resolve that it’d work out in the end.

He didn’t just make the world a better place. He made us all better people. By seeing the good in us, by believing and trusting in us before we did ourselves we found the power to slowly become this better person he saw.

I don’t want to talk about what the world, what we have lost today. Because there are no words fit to describe. And because that is not what Dick would have wanted. You are all assembled here today to pay him one last honour. And this is something Dick has always managed, too. To bring people together. To make them into family. He showed us that we are stronger together.

Dick Grayson was the light in the darkness, he was hope.

So I am asking you to honour him by not forsaking the traces he left. In you and everywhere. Believe in yourself, in your friends and even in those deemed lost. Be compassionate and kind, loving and hopeful and work for a better future. Let Dick Grayson be the light that never fades.”

 

Around him almost everyone was crying or at least holding back the tears. He clenched his jaw stubbornly while giving Drake a quick glance and something like a small nod. But he would not cry, he decided angrily, he would not. Because Dick Grayson was not dead.


	2. Doubt

Maybe he was losing his mind. He didn’t really know how he could tell that something was off, but he just could. There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was just imagining things that he was making them up to busy himself, but he shoved it down. He had been noticing clues, none of them alone pressing enough but put together they left him with a sour feeling. He was the son of the worlds greatest detective wasn’t he? His instincts had to mean something.

\------------------------------------

2 months after Grayson’s burial

Normally Damian wouldn’t get up at eight in the morning, not that he needed that much sleep. But when he was Grayson’s Robin, the other had insisted on him getting at least 7 hours, with the stupid excuse of Damian still growing up and needing the rest and every complaint or try to refuse had ended in him not being allowed on patrol at all- which had been inacceptable until Damian eventually complied. When his father had returned that- as so many other things- had changed but he was still ordered to a resting period of minimal six hours which normally meant he wouldn’t get up before ten or eleven. That morning he did though, he had awoken to nightmares he was fortunate enough not to remember and then decided to sneak stealthily into the cave trying for some extra practise. He would need to be very careful though, last time his father had caught him he wasn’t allowed on patrol for a whole week.  

He quietly dressed and then slipped out of the room sneaking around the corners trying to move as quietly as possible. When he finally entered the batcave he couldn’t suppress a smug grin, he’d train and erase the surveillance tapes afterwards and nobody would ever notice. His grin died upon his lips when he noticed some movement near the computer console. He slid into the shadows holding his breath his eyes fixed on the other person. Drake. He recognized almost immediately and contemplated what to do. He was sure the former Robin hadn’t noticed him, yet, which was typical for his poor observation skills, he could still slip away - but then there were the surveillance tapes if he didn’t erase them he would be in trouble and there was something else, he wondered what Drake was up to, what he was doing here surely without his fathers aproval. He made up his mind and sneaked closer.

“I can hear you breath, Damian,” Drake said when he was almost so close he could touch him.

“Took you long enough,” he answered and stepped out of the shadow. Drake turned his head and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why should I answer to you? I own this place and I am Robin I have every right to be here,” he lied, “question is: What are you doing here?”

Drake eyed him doubtfully. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

He wasn’t supposed to know that, “Aren’t you supposed to be away with you stupid little friends?”

“I have an errand from Batman,” Drake answered.

“Well, then you don’t mind me checking with him, do you?” Damian bluffed.

Drake held his gaze then he sighed and pressed a few buttons on the terminal. Before leaving he looked at him. “I erased the tapes, I won’t mention it if you won’t”

“Certainly,” Damian agreed and headed out after him.

A few hours later though he sneaked back in and tried to figure out what Drake had been doing. The other hadn’t left many traces but Damian could still figure out what he had researched: Grayson’s death. There were scans of all remaining pieces of the collapsed building. It must have taken months to collect all that data. Drake had managed to find every inch of material every last brick down to the burned earth beneath, collect and scan it. He tried to process the results, but to no avail. They were encrypted, of course, and though Drake lacked a lot, Damian hated to admit that his computer skills were actually fairly decent.

Drake apparently hadn’t found anything, or he would have already showed off and told everyone about it. But then he hadn’t stopped looking either, and that was weird enough, because it meant that Drake believed something was missing, too.

He tried another way to decrypt the program when his father entered the cave.

“I noticed you this morning, Damian,” he said unceremonily and Damian held his breath awaiting the impending danger. How _could_ he have noticed though? He had been so careful to make no mistake, to leave no trace. While he retraced every single step he had taken in his mind to discover his mistake his father continued.

“Tim didn’t erase the tapes,” he said. “You’re far too trusting,” he added as in afterthought.

“He...” Damian clenched his fists. This traitor. His eyes instantly fell to the encoded program before him. He felt the rage filling him and the desire for revenge, he could just give him away as easily. He opened his mouth to sell the other out but stopped himself in time. It was not because he cared... But maybe Drake was on to something... And if he shared it now his father might intervene further attempts. The faithless bastard would pay eventually, Damian told himself, he would see to it but now he had to remain calm.

He unclenched his fists, composed himself and looked up. It seemed that his father had waited for him to say something but was seeing now that he wasn’t. And suddenly Damian became painfully aware of how impressive his father seemed. It irritated him. Because he knew that the batman was impressive, scary even that people were afraid of him not only low minds and criminals but everyone even most of his allies felt timid under the thunderous voice of his bulky statue and his unyielding eyes. But he hadn’t been one of them, Damian wasn’t impressed by anyone, not even of afraid death, but right now he noticed how something in him cowered from these cold eyes.

“Apparently” his father said watching him closely, “you are old enough to decide how much sleep you need. If you want to use the extra hours for training it is fine with me. As long as you keep up I will not interfere again.”

Damian couldn’t stop the unbidden image of a rueful Dick Grayson appearing in his mind, face full of emotion, eyes full of mischief. ‘Look little D., I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this is how it is. I will not keep my nose out of your business, no matter how good a Robin you are. It’s not about the job... actually... Actually it’s because their is no “your” business anymore, it’s “our” now. And I won’t stop meddling till... well not ever I guess... that’s what family is about,’ he had grinned then, ‘And now stop sulking or you’ll have to watch _me_ testing the new rocket boots.’

Back in the presence Damian had to clench his fists again and to try hard to maintain a neutral voice. “As you wish, father.”

\-----------------------------------------

Three months after Graysons burial

“This is ridiculous,” he spat.

“Tell me about it,” Superboy agreed. “Not even being allowed to use my powers!”

“ttt,” Damian made snidingly, “a real super hero doesn’t need any super powers, just strong will, endurance and training,”

“And gadgets,” Superboy countered.

“...” Damian sighed,

They had been patrolling when things got complicated. Superman had told them to withdraw but they knew they were able to handle the situation so they didn’t. A lot of fighting some accidental explosions and a few bruises later they did manage to bring the villains down and save the hostages. Superman however was far from amused. Instead of acknowledgment he had accused them of showing off, of being irresponsible endangering everyone and punished them for denying a direct order. He hadn’t remembered seeing Superman ever that mad - and while his fathers cold disappointment usually got the point across, Superman’s emotional outburst did the same. Damian had found himself promising to listen to orders the next time and Jon had been contrite for the remaining day. As a punishment - supposedly to think about their mistakes- they were made to clean a building, roof to ground covered in graffiti that should be modernized into a school for the unprivileged. Without using any help except for two buckets of water , soap  and two sponges. It  was ridiculous. They had been on it since sunrise and only covered a tenth of the areal. It was a stupid task, really. And it seemed so random, he was used that the punishment fitted the crime that was how _his_ family handled things, cleaning a random building only seemed pointless.

“I don’t understand this. Even if we finish cleaning it, they will apply new graffiti a week later. This task is worthless, is that your fathers reasoning? Does he want to annoy us with wasting our time?”

“Oh... I’m sure he has a plan. He always does,”

“ttt,” Damian replied, “I think you’re confusing him with _my_ father.”

Superboy just laughed at that. “The thing is,” he said when he was finished laughing, “What I don’t understand is, why are they writing anyway? I mean the political slogans well I might not agree, but I understand” He read aloud “’Capitalism kills! Kill all cops! Metropolis first!’ then there are those childish ones ‘Dana loves Micky! Clara is a bitch! Josephine heart!’ but the ones that are just tags or only state names? Like _Mike was here!_ Why are they even doing it?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “they are imbecile want to leave a mark,”

Superboy stopped they scrubbing, “hmmm... but why?”

Damian looked at the resting sponge, “Can’t you work and think at the same time?”

Superboys hand remained at it’s place his face puzzled, “It’s almost if they need to prove that they exist,” he said, “make themselves heard... even if they’ve got nothing to say... No matter how unimportant, they want other people to acknowledge them... don’t you think that’s sad, Damian?” Jon asked sadly.

But Damian didn’t hear the end of the question, his mind was working over the sentence before. _No matter what they did, they want other people to know, to see..._ right. That was, what hadn’t made sense. Why would someone kill Grayson but not brag about it. If someone managed to they would certainly rub it into the publics face. Either because they strove for power and prestige or because they wanted to rile up the batman. If they had abducted him, then surely they’d try to pressure someone, probably batman as well. But there was nothing, no word, no sign that the deed happened, no one claiming having killed the famous Nightwing. That _was_ odd.  

“Damian?”

It could have been revenge, of course, killing Nightwing, he certainly had made enough foes who wanted to see him dead. But this mere child had written ‘Clara is a bitch’ and it did mean something,  if it was revenge Grayson’s killers were after they would surely be proud of their kill and announce it, or at least leave Graysons dead body as a sign.

“Hey!”

What was the point then? Had it been an accident? But if it was an accident there would have been traces, you could never hide something unplanned, impulsive like an accident, that was why batman spent all the time preparing like he did, but Drake hadn’t found any. Did they want them to believe that he was dead, while he wasn’t? So that they wouldn’t look for him? But why ...? Torture him until he told them their secret identities? But Grayson never would... and blackmailing would be far more effective. No matter how you looked at it, it just-

Superboy shook him and Damian snapped out of his thoughts.

“Man, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he said.

The other boy looked like he didn’t believe him, held his gaze but finally sighed. “Okay.” Then he changed the topic, “Listen if you are done with staring into nothingness we should really get going, I mean it’ll probably take forever any way, but there’s this movie I want to catch in a fortnight and ...”

Damian shook his head. “We’re getting at this the wrong way. We’re overlooking something. I know we are.”

“Uhm...Are we still talking about the cleaning...?”

“Hmm?” Damian looked at Superboy and thoughtfully added, “No superpower, no gadget. That’s not what a hero makes. It’s his mind,” he pointed to his head, “we have to think this through.”

Jon laughed, “I think it’s more about the heart... although” His blue eyes suddenly lit up, “I think I’ve got an idea!” he grinned. “I hope you are a good artist.”

 

He could feel Superman smiling at them, while they shook the headmistress hand.

“Thank you,” she said again, “It certainly wasn’t what I expected, but now I can’t imagine anything more fitting for our school.”

“It was nothing,” Superboy said blushing.

“He _is_ correct,” Damian added, “it were your students who did all of the work we were only supporting them organizing minor tasks, nothing worth mentioning.”

“I am not speaking about the execution, which was beautifully done by our students, and we are indeed very proud of them - as they are as themselves , rightfully so. But we have to thank you for coming up with the idea in first place.” She smiled at them warmly, “It does say a lot about you.”

“You’re welcome,” Damian said self-consciously and Jon even blushed.

“She was right, though,” Superman told them when they were walking away, “It _does_ say a lot about you,”

Damian rolled his eyes, Jon grinned broadly and waved a last time at the proud smiling students and teachers. Behind them a freshly painted school shined in new bright and colourful graffiti, 122 bigger and smaller pictures of terrifying fire-breathing dragons, cheesy violet sunsets, towering skylines, real and made-up animals, tropic plants and artful clouds and even some very inaccurate far too colourful portraits of the two of them, -and no matter what Superboy would say, Damian had not been caught off guard by it.

\-----------------------------------

Three and a half months after Grayson’s burial

He had never been particularly good at reading people. Obviously he had received basic training to notice if criminals lied, if they hid something, or even recognize in which emotional state they were in. It did make a difference if someone was scared or angry. His training in the league had been adequate to deal with Gotham’s scum but for handling the victims it had fallen short. It had taken him a while to understand the necessity for... comforting people. He had realized - and as always Grayson seemed to have had a big part in it- the importance for the mission and that it was, had to be Robin’s duty because naturally it couldn’t be Batman’s. He had practised his skills determinedly, though in secret, and slowly become better. Still he was not as skilled as he’d liked to and his lack made him painfully aware.

There didn’t seem to be anything off about Barbara Gordon to a passing eye. She didn’t show the normal signs of grief common people seemed to exhibit. No change in weight, no recognizable signs of sleep loss, no fresh lines in her face, no change in behaviour.

“I wondered when you’d call me,” she said smiling but watching him closely. “Dick’s little brother...”

Damian held her gaze. Something was off though he just couldn’t put his fingers on it. Nothing indicating what she had lost. Then again batgirl certainly wasn’t an ordinary person and everyone connected to batman was hard to read - well maybe except for Grayson.

She eyed him and then slowly said, “I thought you called me to talk about Dick... But I guess this is not how our family works... You came here to talk about how he died,”

Damian’s eyes flashed, “I wanted to talk with you about Nightwing,”

Gordon smiled kindly. “Weren’t they the same?”

That threw him off enough for not immediately denying it he pushed it away to think about it later and continued, “You are oracle, you had a comlink with him that night.”

Gordon nodded slowly. Wasn’t it too warm for a sweatshirt wouldn’t she usually wear a shirt his mind supplied.

“Yes. As you are aware of. You can’t tell me you haven’t read the records,”

She was right. Of course he had. Several times and he was sure they were accurate leaving out no important detail. He was quite certain batman had talked to her as well and why did he bother when his father hadn’t found anything?

“At what point does he inform you, when he can’t handle a situation.”

She smiled sadly, “It depends. When he knew he wasn’t strong or fast enough he easily called for back up, quicker than you do, actually. He was never too proud to ask for back up since his Titan days... Except he thought he could manage and got surprised or found the situation too dangerous to endanger anyone else.”

“He rarely asks batman for help,” Damian said.

“Not if he could help it, no.” she said quietly, “can you blame him?”

Damian glared. He was supposed to read her not the other way round. He knew Grayson had been intimate with her, valued her and her opinion highly and that alone vouched for her. He didn’t have to like it.

“He would called, if he thought he had needed help. And if he had thought it too dangerous he still would have send an automatic belated distress message to me to warn you and coordinate your attack.”

“A belated distress message?” Damian asked incredulously,

Gordon chuckled, “The first time he did that and I realized the message was actually sent an hour after he was unconscious we fought for a solid evening,”

Damian raised his brows-

“He just wouldn’t promise me to never do it again... Said he hated breaking promises.” she said almost to herself.

The way her arms moved gave her away. That was the odd thing he had missed before. It hadn’t given her away before but it did now while she was remembering. Probably bruises and scars, certainly bandaged but more than usual, so many more that she wouldn’t be accustomed to it. He wondered if it was carelessness or if it was something else... Before Graysons supposed death he had sometimes noticed a similar behaviour in his father. When things got bad, when he blamed himself for something when he lost too much.

“I seem to forget how keen an observer you are. Dick would have been proud... No Damian...”

And suddenly her face opened. And he could see anything, every wrinkle in her clear face, the dull eyes the shadow around the lips, the tired stance, the tense neck, the tight shoulders. She smiled and then everything was gone again. She had let him see, he realized, allowed him in.

“I thought about it, replayed it in my heads a hundred times... Dick”

Batman would have used the codename not that it mattered now, but because it was easier...

“Dick sent a distress signal. We had a short talk 43 minutes earlier. Nothing out of the ordinary. You know him, a few jokes a bit of banter... there was no sign of anything abnormal. We knew each other long enough we have had a dozen coded conversations over the years. Nothing. He didn’t know he was danger 43 minutes before whatever it was got him. Nor did he when it hit him. You know the rest, all his vital signs disappearing from one second to the next, not declining not dead, just no sign at all.”

“Yes,” Damian said huskily.

“Damian... Hope can be good thing but it also can be quite destructive... You still think that he’s alive.”

“No,” Damian lied defiantly. He hated their pitying glances their pretentious understanding. They thought that he was in denial because he couldn’t deal with the Grayson’s death. That he was weak. He wouldn’t give them any more reason to not take him seriously.

“You are a bad liar.” Gordon said. Then she sighed thoughtfully. “I am sure Dick would have found a way to communicate if he could have. So it killed him instantly... And that means it had to be a very sophisticated weapon because surprising Nightwing was barely easier than surprising Batman.”

“But if it were so sophisticated why not use it again?” he said, “I know that all of you think that he’s dead and that I'm childish. But tell me, Gordon, during the whole time of you being Oracle how many times did Nightwings vital signs just vanish?”

She sighed “Never,” she said.


End file.
